Good Medicine
by Servant of Fire
Summary: John never thought he'd be returning to the scene of the cabby's attempted crime... Sherlock's attempted recreation of the suicide game. And how John cures him with a dose of his own medicine. Rated T for alcohol and attempted suicide. For entertainment purposes only.


**Good Medicine~**

**For my Medicine~**

Never expected to be coming here again.

John is clothed in the winter . He throws his head back, lets it fall on him. It's like being kissed by his angel in heaven. That would be one Mary Morstan-Would-Be-Watson ,if you're wondering.

Been living with Sherlock ever since he'd returned. Returned none too soon...

Mary had died the same week that Sherlock came back. It was in a terrible accident at a cross- walk.

When Sherlock returned, he wasn't himself. Helped John through the initial shock of losing again someone he loved so much, in so violent a way. Paid the penance of his anger, let him cry his tears on his shoulder.

And when John was on the mend, and it had taken time, Sherlock began to withdraw. As if he wasn't needed anymore...

Getting farther and farther away, like a star falling in slow motion. Almost out of sight...

Until tonight, when John had followed him back to the old building where the cabby had attempted his murder, and their adventures had begun.

John found his way in this time, to where Sherlock and the cabby had sat.

Sherlock sat there alone now. With a bottle of some foul- smelling liquor, that seemed to never be depleted of its contents ,though he swilled it till he was ashen drunk, as if it drained the color from his soul.

Before him were two bottles ,each with a single pill in them.

It was scary to see him like this. John never remembered him being an alcoholic, and maybe he wasn't... usually. Hadn't known him when he'd been an addict ,either. Didn't really know-save for a few poisoning incidents(which were more out of body, and which he'd slept through ,mostly)- what he was like when he was out of his head. And he was light years away from his head now, the palace filling with the ashes of his brillant mind. No lights on, no one home...

He didn't look up when John sat down. They sat in silence for a good long while.

"So , what's all this?" John asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. At the thought that... his best mate... could be about to kill himself,in front of him, again.

Why did he always have to lose the people that he loved? Especially the ones that he loved the most? Of the top two there was one now left...

And he was one wrong pill away from losing him too.

"Thinking..."Sherlock hissed, letting a wet breath slide between his teeth. He was drenched in his own sweat, and his hair hung over his forehead, as dark as the shadow inside his mind. His eyes burned with his pain. As fire-y as hell, as cold as the Ever-Winter ,that kept the world blind to who he really was,and what he really thought. No, not what he observed. What he _thought_, what he _felt. _What made him "Sherlock".

"What about?" John smiled, laid a hand on one of his. Sherlock looked up, saw straight through him. Smiled.

"Hallucinating now... I see John..."

John decided to play on this, "Well, as I'm not really here, you can tell me anything."

Sherlock nodded, smiling. The kindest smile that John had ever seen on his face.

"I'm glad I can see him so perfectly, in case... it's the end..."

"Yeah...Yeah ,me too...So* ehem* that's...that's what you've been thinking about?"

Sherlock staired into space. "On my Hiatus...when I was in Japan, I learned of Bushido. It was for tracking down a "Ronin" that worked for the Consulting Criminal. "Ronin" it means "samurai without a master". Samurai means "servant"...So"servant without a master"..." He drew another heavy ,hissing breath. "His people caught me in my sleuthing..." he smiled, as if that was amusing."Well, it's standard procedure to torture me once they've found me...that happened a lot on my Hiatus...Mycroft says I made him look bad. Well..it wasn't really MY fault, I mean, it's not like I had much help...My best man was thousands of miles away..."

John almost swallowed his tongue. Sherlock continued.

"When they brought me to him, he looked at me,and said, 'Ah,well met, my English- Ronin." He became a sort of rival, taught me of Bushido in the day, gave me up to "lecture" or "torments" in the night. I got good at feeling pain less..." he laughed.

"But not that good...The name...the title. It hurt, because it was true. I am a servant without a master. So I serve when and where I feel I can be most helpful...I like being helpful. Gives me a reason to go on..being so...well, myself..." He looked up, clutching John's hand for dear life. John's eyes watered, and he clutched it back. As if they were about to arm wrestle, Sherlock brought their elbows up, and leaned closer, looking into and through John's eyes.

"There was only one person that I ever knew that actually needed me, not for what I could do for them, but simply because I existed. One person that,...I suppose, he...cared. And that was John Watson. The hero of war. The doctor. That saved people..." he laughed.

"A thousand ,thousand times,as I lay on some cold ground at night, thinking I was dying from whatever they did to me, I would think about my doctor. How to the rest of the world, I was this Ronin, this insufferable ,stray dog that nobody could stand ,just for the way it was...But to John I was "Samurai", and what I did was...honorable, even. And it's the way of the samurai to, once his services are no longer needed,gladly end his life for the honor of the one he served...To preserve John's life...that was the reason I fell the first time, you remember,of course, what Moriarty's orders for the snipers were."

John nodded. Sherlock had eventually been pestered into telling him that detail,and only did because he thought it would appease his rage.

"Oh yes..Yes, I remember..."

"Well..."Sherlock ,to John's absolute ,heart-wrenched horror, was in tears now.

"John doesn't need me now. Everything will be ok for him now that he's got his reputation back ,after I ruined it. You know,I'm complete rubbish. Or that's what people say. Only good for getting involved in trouble, seeing to it that there's a big and clever show of the trouble, and then making a witty exit from the trouble. Boring, 'cept when I get off on it. You know, like crows. I'm rubbish, AND what eats the bloody said rubbish...And John doesn't need that...He's...he's too good for that."

John's mouth was gaping. "Who TOLD you that?"

"Everyone...Always. From the time I was a child-(I actually used to be),and ever since. Because I'm ...a "Freak". Because I see things humans aren't supposed to, like a vulture, scouting out rubbish, attracted to rubbish, because I am only so much RUBBISH. Chicken bones...like that one cousin I had ,that I can never remember the name of, -deleted it- called me. Mycroft didn't like the nickname, but it was funny,and he laughed at it..."

John was shaking his head. Sherlock grit his teeth at him.

"Of course he would disagree. John's like that. Wants to fix everything. Wants to help ...everyone. Found a "stray dog" one day, and fed him. But you can't feed bones, as dead things don't do any feeding, but are rather fed off 's what people do with me...I see them as stupid ,ugly little rats, that like to pick at rubbish. It's stupid that I help them, but I need something to do ,or I'm so BORED." he clattered the liquor bottle on the table.

"Well, if I stick around, I'll only ruin John again. If I leave him behind,I'll be Ronin again,and I can't live with that. So , logically, the best thing to do is to go...But John wouldn't like that. Doesn't like being left behind. Doesn't like it when he can't fix something..or clean up rubbish, or tame stray dogs...But he can't fix me..I'm too broken. And of no use...anymore. So,I'll do it like this, play one last game...one last thing so I won't be bored in the end...and then..." he smiles too fondly,

"Sleep..." he breathes a heavy ,longing sigh. John finds that he is crying. And then, he knows what to do. The best thing to cure Sherlock is a dose of his own medicine. Said medicine being the selfless love disguised by his roughness, by his complete ,cluelessness when it comes to sentiment, and the fact, that there are a few people who CARE. About more important things than what they want... And some who cared...about him.

"Ok, so, let's take our medicine.I pick this one." John snatched up the bottle nearest Sherlock. Who almost over-turned the table...

"Wha-a-a-Eh-yut?...NO. You aren't ...allowed."

John wasn't about to budge. "If my reputation prevents us from continuing in this life, then let me follow you to the next."

Sherlock shook his head..."I'm no good, John. I told you, I'm rubbish. Why have rubbish, when you can have everything?! The whole, bloody world!"

"What if you're worth the world...to me? What if to me, it's backwards, and all that rest is rubbish, and what if...what if you ...ARE...the world? Where I can live and be of use? I need that too...and you gave it to me. You were like medicine, at a time when I was very sick...You are my medicine..." he smiles.

"Good medicine..." he added, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Now Sherlock could feel him.

"Oh my God...you're really here...all of this..I thought it was in my head...You...you're going to kill me!"

"Hmm, Mr. Logic is making a lot of since, kill you ,because I'm angry with you for trying to kill yourself? I'm no1t angry, though. You are clearly out of sorts, and are thinking some TERRIBLE things about yourself, which, I don't care what people have said, -they ARE stupid, actually,- none of it's true." he smiled, through the tear- stains,and hugged Sherlock close.

"I will however knock a knot on your head the size of a globe, if I ever catch you with booze and pills again, got it?"

Sherlock nodded fiercely, chin drilling into John's shoulder.

"Alright, leave all this crap ,then. I'm taking you home...To stay..."

**~The End**


End file.
